无论是在学校还是在社会中，许多人都有过写作文的经历，对作文都不陌生吧，作文一定要做到主题集中，围绕同一主题作深入阐述，切忌东拉西扯，主题涣散甚至无主题。为了让您在写作文时更加简单方便，下面是小编精心整理的春天的英语作文5篇，供大家参考借鉴，希望可以帮助到有需要的朋友。
Clouds is the sky walk scenery, spray is walking river scenery, the wind is the air, is fragrant flowers the scenery of the scenery walk walk... As far as the eye can see, walking, scenery everywhere.
From our school gate, to meet the spring breeze walking east you'll see the earth like a blanket covered with a layer of green, the winding path into the distance, the roadsides and colorful flowers and all kinds of animals. In front is no one don't know in our village "ancient yanghe river have many tall and straight poplar, like soldiers on guard. On the Banks of the river see static like water
A mirror, and the green like a flawless jade. There is a stone bridge south of the river seven caves under the bridge there are people rowing. The scenery is so beautiful!
Would you like to see? Then you will quickly northern han village! I welcome you, I love my hometown spring field!
云朵是天空行走的风景，浪花是河流行走的风景，风儿是空气，馨香是鲜花行走的风景行走的风景……行走四方，目之所及，到处都是风景。
从我们学校门口，迎着春风向东走去你会看到大地像铺上了一层绿色的毛毯，弯弯曲曲的小路伸向远方，小路旁还有五颜六色的小花和各种各样的动物。在前面就是在我们村子里无人不晓得“古洋河”河岸上有许许多多挺拔的白杨树，像士兵站岗似的'整齐。在河岸上看水静的像
一面镜子，绿得像一块无瑕的翡翠。河的南面有一座石桥有七个石洞桥下还有人划船而过。这美景真是太美了!
你想看看吗?那你快来北汉村吧!我随时欢迎你，我爱家乡春天的田野!
Spring, I never had strong feeling to spring before last year. Some people said spring should be a happy season. But I never sensed that. I always liked the autumn because I thought autumn was a romantic season. I liked summer when I was very young for I loved my skirt with , I still like autumn and summer,while I like spring and winter.
Before I disliked the various colors of the flowers,and I thought they are flighty and superficial. I thought only only the blue ocean is deep, the golden autumn is elegant. However, now I have a different idea that I find spring wonderful. I like the blossom in the field and in the moutain. From them I am spirited with life.
Of the four seasons,I love Spring Spring,the weather gets warmer and everything begins to grow we go to the countryside on a sunny day in Spring,w’ll find tree turning green and flowers des my personal interests,I think the most in important reason Why I like Spring is that Spring signifies hope and progress.I love Spring.
Spring is a colorful picture. You see, the grass out the sharp head, peach blossom opened red smiling face, camphor trees take off the old dress.
Farmer uncle cotton-padded clothes off to digging. Little tadpoles swimming in the water, may be to find mom.
Spring is a beautiful moving song. You listen to, spring DingDingDongDong down the mountain, the rain of spring rain girl n oise that playing in the trees, birds twittering call, children singing in the campus.
春天是一副五颜六色的画。你看，小草钻出了尖尖的脑袋，桃花张开了红红的笑脸，樟树脱下了旧旧的衣裳。
农民伯伯脱去棉衣去松土。小蝌蚪在水里游来游去，可能是去找妈妈吧。
春天是一首优美动听的歌。你听，泉水丁丁冬冬的流下山去，春雨姑娘的雨打在树上沙沙沙，小鸟叽叽喳喳的叫，小朋友在校园里唱歌。
A Promise of Spring
Early in the spring, about a month before my grandpa's stroke, I began walking for an hour every afternoon. Some days I would walk four blocks south to see Grandma and Grandpa. At eighty-six, Grandpa was still quite a gardener, so I always watched for his earliest blooms and each new wave of spring flowers.
I was especially interested in flowers that year because I was planning to landscape my own yard and I was eager to get Grandpa's advice. I thought I knew pretty much what I wanted — a yard full of bushes and plants that would bloom from May till November.
It was right after the first rush of purple violets in the lawns and the sudden blaze of forsythia that spring that Grandpa had a stroke. It left him without speech and with no movement on his left side. The whole family rallied to Grandpa. We all spent many hours by his side. Some days his eyes were eloquent — laughing at our reported mishaps, listening alertly, revealing painful awareness of his inability to care for himself. There were days, too, when he slept most of the time, overcome with the weight of his approaching death.
As the months passed, I watched the growing earth with Grandpa's eyes. Each time I was with him, I gave him a garden report. He listened, gripping my hand with the sure strength and calm he had always had. But he could not answer my questions. The new flowers would blaze, peak, fade, and die before I knew their names.
Grandpa's illness held him through the spring and on, week by week, through summer. I began spending hours at the local nursery, studying and choosing seeds and plants. It gave me special joy to buy plants I had seen in Grandpa's garden and give them humble starts in my own garden. I discovered Sweet William, which I had admired for years in Grandpa's garden without knowing its name. And I planted it in his honor.
As I waited and watched in the garden and by Grandpa's side, some quiet truths emerged. I realized that Grandpa loved flowers that were always bloom; he kept a full bed of roses in his garden. But I noticed that Grandpa left plenty of room for the brief highlights. Not every nook of his garden was constantly in bloom. There was always a treasured surprise tucked somewhere.
I came to see, too, that Grandpa's garden mirrored his life. He was a hard worker who understood the law of the harvest. But along with his hard work, Grandpa knew how to enjoy each season, each change. We often teased him about his life history. He had written two paragraphs summarizing fifty years of work, and a full nine pages about every trip and vacation he'd ever taken.
In July, Grandpa worsened. One hot afternoon arrived when no one else was at his bedside. He was glad to have me there, and reached out his hand to pull me close.
I told Grandpa what I had learned — that few flowers last from April to November. Some of the most beautiful bloom for only a month at most. To really enjoy a garden, you have to plant corners and drifts and rows of flowers that will bloom and grace the garden, each in its own season.
His eyes listened to every word. Then, another discovery: "If I want a garden like yours, Grandpa, I'm going to have to work." His grin laughed at me, and his eyes teased me.
"Grandpa, in your life right now the chrysanthemums are in bloom. Chrysanthemums and roses." Tears clouded both our eyes. Neither of us feared this last flower of fall, but the wait for spring seems longest in November. We knew how much we would miss each other.
Sitting there, I suddenly felt that the best gift I could give Grandpa would be to give voice to the testimony inside both of us. He had never spoken of his testimony to me, but it was such a part of his life that I had never questioned if Grandpa knew. I knew he knew.
"Grandpa," I began — and his grip tightened as if he knew what I was going to say — "I want you to know that I have a testimony. I know the Savior lives. I bear witness to you that Joseph Smith is a prophet. I love the Restoration and joy in it." The steadiness in Grandpa's eyes told how much he felt it too. "I bear witness that President Kimball is a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true, Grandpa. Every part of me bears this witness."
"Grandpa," I added quietly, "I know our Father in Heaven loves you." Unbidden, unexpected, the Spirit bore comforting, poignant testimony to me of our Father's love for my humble, quiet Grandpa.
A tangible sense of Heavenly Father's compassionate awareness of Grandpa's suffering surrounded us and held us. It was so personal and powerful that no words were left to me — only tears of gratitude and humility, tears of comfort.
Grandpa and I wept together.
It was the end of August when Grandpa died, the end of summer. As we were choosing flowers from the florist for Grandpa's funeral, I slipped away to Grandpa's garden and walked with my memories of columbine and Sweet William. Only the tall lavender and white phlox were in bloom now, and some baby's breath in another corner.
On impulse, I cut the prettiest strands of phlox and baby's breath and made one more arrangement for the funeral. When they saw it, friends and family all smiled to see Grandpa's flowers there. We all felt how much Grandpa would have liked that.
The October after Grandpa's death, I planted tulip and daffodil bulbs, snowdrops, crocuses, and bluebells. Each bulb was a comfort to me, a love sent to Grandpa, a promise of spring.
